


Gold From Schlock

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Gen, and jewish, filbricks a dick, i will fight about this, ma pines is awesome, sitches au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:42:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: Set in the Stitches AU:Ma Pines has a talk with her husband regarding their sons and gains nothing.





	Gold From Schlock

**Author's Note:**

> My use of Yiddish is probably illegal. Please forgive and correct any mistakes.

Stanley’s clothes are going missing. She didn’t pay it any mind, he was a boy and boys lose things all the time, but when his clothes do show up in the wash they’ve gotten so much filthier. Grass stains, dirt stains, scuffs and tears. She swears she finds a few cigarette burns, but she knows she raised her boys better than that (she also knows Stanley and she knows his free spirit will get him into trouble someday). She tuts and mutters to herself, bleaching his shirts and scrubbing out stains, doing her best to make her baby boy respectable without breaking her nails. (They’re fake, of course, but a real pain in the _tuches_ to replace.)

“Filbrick, hon,” she files a nail, it had chipped on a zipper, before placing the Emory board on the kitchen table where she sat with her husband. “Filbrick.” The man grunts. She rolls her eyes, leaning over to snap her fingers. “Filbrick Pines, ya miserable goat, don't ignore ya wife when she's talking to ya!” Filbrick sets the paper down with a grunt, his face impassive beneath the ever-present sunglasses, but she can see the little crease between his brows that means he's annoyed. “Don't gimme that look, ya _schmendrick_ , I cook ya dinners.” She taps a nail pointedly next to his mug of coffee, a sharp click-click. The line softens and he huffs, folding the paper and setting it on the table. She leans back, dragging her own coffee mug with her. “Thank ya. Now, as I was sayin’, ya notice anythin’ strange about the boys?”

“Nothin’ but strange, those two.” Filbrick grumbles, crossing his arms. His mustache twitches, the line forms again. Man needs to work on his poker face.

“Don’t be an ass, Filbrick, ya know what I mean.” She clicks her nails against the ceramic mug, watching Filbrick’s lip just slightly twitch with each clink.

“And you know I don’t give a damn,” he says and she gives one final, loud clink.

“Filbrick Pines, you miserable _shyster_ \--”

“You watch your mouth, woman--”

“And you watch your’s! Those are my babies, Filbrick. When I ask ya to treat ‘em well ya better damn do it.” She’s wrapped both hands around her mug, leaning ever it to hiss at her husband. To Filbrick’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. Much.

“Ya know I never wanted ‘em,” he says low and heavy. She huffs a sigh; this is an old, well-worn argument.

“And nobody wants the _schlock_ ya peddlin’ either, but somehow ya make something of it!” She clicks her nails on her mug again.

“What’s got you all worked up anyway?” A wrinkle joins the line on his brow. She glares at him a moment longer for good measure.

“Just the boys, ya know?” She sighs, bringing a lacquered hand to pat down her hair, already laden with hair spray. Filbrick grunts and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. “They used ta be thick as thieves and suddenly Stanley's off all odd hours and Stanford won't come outta his books! I tell ya, ‘s like they're diff'rent people!”

“Knowing Stanley, the knucklehead, he's off ruining his life more than he already has. Coulda been a decent boxer, nothing impressive, but the boy’s got no fire for it.” Filbrick leans forward, just enough to be intent. “The reason I can sell junk no one wants is because when I see something worthless? I get rid of it.” She hisses:

“Filbrick--”

“Stanford’s got potential; he's smart, good head on his shoulders. I'm not much for a man making a living in books, not enough hard work’ll ruin a man, but he can at least make somethin’ of himself. But Stanley--”

“ _Paskudnyak_.” She snarls and Filbrick raises his brows above his glasses. “Those are your sons.” She doesn't realize she is standing until Filbrick stands, too.

“And I've told you, woman, I never wanted them.” His tone is so even but she knows she's ruffled him, that she set the trap and he fell into it like the rabid badger he is. She stands as straight as she can, head back, eyes sharp.

“Sometimes, Filbrick,” her voice is clipped and cold, “life gives us things we don't want. But if we're smart, we make do.” She glares at him, pushing every ounce of meaning she can through her words. She sees his hand twitch into a fist and knows she made her point. His mustache curls into a slight sneer but he says nothing, he only sits again and begins reading. She takes her coffee to the counter and very pointedly pours a shot of whiskey into the cooling mug.

 

She's disappointed but not surprised when another pair of Stan’s jeans go missing.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a short exploration into the character of Ma Pines--or my version of her. I think that she and Filbrick really care for each other, Ma ain't no fool, but I think they were forced into a marriage they weren't ready for and it's soured their relationship. Also, Filbrick is photosensitive, ergo, sunglasses indoors. 
> 
> I might edit this later, but I need this done.


End file.
